Unfettered Aberration
by Kyndred
Summary: Tevinter was renowned for its depravity -his master even more so. Slipping into a half-existence felt easier than fighting the inevitable.Nothing remained but blind obedience - until the appearance of the unfettered aberration. Nothing moved him, until now. Nothing stirred him, until now. Yes,Tevinter was depraved, but so was he if he allowed himself this one obsession. AU F!H/Fen
1. Prologue

**Summary: **

Tevinter was renowned for its depravity - his master even more so. Slipping into a half-existence felt easier than fighting the inevitable. Nothing remained but blind obedience - until the appearance of the unfettered aberration. Nothing moved him, until now. Nothing stirred him, until now. Yes, Tevinter was depraved, but so was he if he allowed himself this one obsession.

(AU) - F!Hawke/Fenris**  
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**A/N: Rated M for mature content, violence, and language.  
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Disclaimer: Bioware owns all - just writing for fun.**  
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**Unfettered Aberration**

**Prologue  
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Was it possible for someone who discarded all layers of emotion to feel pity?

The question pricked his mind like an annoying splinter, penetrating uncomfortably into the all too comfortable haze of his consciousness. He resented the intrusion. Over the years, he settled into a comfortable state of emptiness, finding it easier to distance himself from everything than allowing emotions to influence his actions. If an order was given, he followed it blindly and efficiently. His master valued him for that.

But now, watching the shackled figure being led into the center of the arena, he was almost tempted to frown. His thoughts stirred from their deep slumber, worming like snakes to struggle against their bindings. If he wasn't so occupied with pushing them back, he would have wondered how he even remembered the term "pity" in the first place.

Next to him – above him – his master chuckled. Aside from the knowledge that he would be severely punished for looking his master in the eye without permission, seeing the Magister's face twisted into a picture of cruelty and sadistic pleasure was not necessary for the Wolf to know that the man was enjoying the sight before him.

Next to and around the Viewing Box lined with rows of mages of high stature, similar expressions of amusement reached his ears. Before his dull, green, eyes, the prisoner, dressed in mismatched and rusted pieces of silver armor covered in blood and grime, stumbled after a man pulling on his short leash. Long, black, hair hung in a tangled mass around his shoulders; his gate was clumsy, probably due to weakness from starvation or abuse. Nothing unusual. Slaves and prisoners were treated like animals in Tevinter; this creature obviously experienced that fact first hand.

Eventually, the pair reached the center of the oval-shaped stadium. As they stopped, the man holding the chain turned around and kicked the slave in the side, sending him staggering and toppling to the ground. Again, the Magisters shared a collective sound of merriment. The rustle of shifting silks signaled that another mage had arrived to take the final, unoccupied, seat in the Viewing Box. As the man relaxed and placed his staff at his side, the Wolf heard him turn to direct a question to the one above him.

"What have they brought this time, Danarius?"

"That thing looks like it can barely stand, let alone put up a fight," one of the men complained irritably.

"Another filthy slave, no doubt?" another Magister suggested in a bored tone.

"Not this time, Lovian," Danarius said. A pause. "You'll see."

"This better be worth my time," another one said, his voice breathless. A pair of his own slaves fanned him to provide some relief from the blistering heat of the sun. "I was invited to a viewing of Rominus's new invention, but I declined because you said this was an event worth attending instead."

"Rominus?" his master scoffed. "The only useful invention _he's_ come up with is the collar he uses to keep his bitch of a wife from leaving him." The Magisters laughed in response. All the while, the Wolf's gaze did not waver. He watched as the slave pushed himself off the ground to stand, swaying, on his feet. Despite the size of the arena and the amount of people present, the voices used to whisper theories about the creature's identity were quiet and subdued. Nobody wanted to induce the annoyance of the nobles present at the event. Nothing would stop a Magister from burning an offending commoner alive, or turning a free man into a slave with a flick of his wrist. Despite that, there was still a hum in the air. There was only one prisoner, after all - an unusual element. Typically, ten or fifteen slaves were brought out onto the field at a time.

Such events were often the only ways for the common people of Tevinter to see the power of their Magisters with their own eyes. The mages often showed off their power by summoning demons to fight slaves in this arena, or to sacrifice them. The trials instilled the fear and blind loyalty that the people showed for their leaders. Crossing them meant that they would share a similar fate. Yet, despite the symbolism of such events, more and more Magisters grew bored with them, as they did with most things that required little effort. It seemed that even inhumanity has a limit to its appeal.

When it was time, a single gesture from the head Magister sent the crowd into an obedient silence. Everyone turned to face the center of the field.

The Arena Master stepped out from the same gate that the slave and his retainer emerged from earlier. He was dressed in armor of the highest quality, although his girth strained the ties and bindings of the shining metal. Waving his hands in the air, he brought a cone-shaped device to his mouth that would amplify his voice to reach the Viewing Box.

"Esteemed Lords!" he shouted. "Today, your humble servants bring a special treat to entertain you!" His gestures were theatrical and exaggerated. If the Wolf's prior experience of viewing such "entertainments" in the arena were any indication, the events that followed the Arena Master's announcement would be another bloodletting or a public humiliation. Disinterested, he cast his eyes downward, slowly allowing his mind to slip into its customary numbness. However, the announcer pulled his attention quickly back to the field with his next words.

"Today, we have brought you a _legend_! A _Grey Warden_ of Ferelden!"

Around him, the Magisters stirred, some voicing their disbelief while others expressed excitement and delight. The crowd hummed again in surprise.

"Yes! A _Grey Warden_, captured alive on the coast near Kirkwall!"

For the second time that day, the Wolf's eyes focused in on the prisoner. He took note of his slouched back and slightly bent knees, suddenly realizing that his clumsiness wasn't clumsiness at all. Instead, he stood rigidly in a deceptive battle stance. The armor he wore – a mockery composed pieces of broken garbage – should have weighed him down, but he bore the burden easily. If the opportunity for escape appeared, he would not hesitate to take it. By lulling his captors into a false sense of security, he was free to look for openings in their defenses.

_A clever deception_, the Wolf thought to himself, _but a useless one._ Even if he tried to escape, the mages would tear him apart with their magic, assuming that his captors failed to do so with their blades. Such an end was inevitable. Hoping for any other conclusion was foolish and futile. Soon, he would learn the ways of this world, assuming he made it out alive.

"Danarius," one of the Magisters murmured. "You've outdone yourself this time."

"It pleases me that you approve, Keran. I hope that declining Rominus's viewing no longer burdens you."

"Not at all," the mage replied. Having been in service to Danarius for years now, the Wolf easily understood his master's clever ploy. The Magister named Rominus was one of his biggest rivals for a promotion in the Order. By distracting the others with this rare show, he easily pulled their attention away from his competitor. The elf could only imagine how many strings he'd had to pull, and how many palms he'd greased to make this possible. A Grey Warden, after all, could not have come cheaply, especially if the rumors about the raging Blight in Ferelden held any truth to them. He had to wonder though, how a Grey Warden – a warrior of legend – could have allowed himself to be captured this way. He also had to wonder how none of his allies had come for him yet. The Grey Wardens were a closely-knit order, bound by honor and loyalty. Surely, there were others looking for this man.

"How did you come by _it_?" someone asked.

"A long story, really," Danarius replied. "In truth, I had no trouble breaking _it_ – more proof that the Tevinter Order stands above even the most renowned of 'heroes'." He drew out the last word, coating it with poisonous disgust. The Wolf knew what his master was really saying. When he mentioned the "Tevinter Order", he actually referred to himself. The hidden meaning did not go unnoticed. The other Magisters fell silent, obviously impressed.

"It would be a shame for _it_ to die so easily, when so much could be learned from it by further study," one of the mages lamented.

"I've already purchased it. If it survives the showing today, I will be sure to share my findings with all of you." The Wolf could almost visualize his master's self-satisfied smile. "After all, I could never deny my closest colleagues such a pleasure." The others chuckled and settled back into their chairs to watch the progression of the show.

"We have _another_ surprise today, Esteemed Lords!" the announcer continued. He motioned to the prisoner's keeper to stay as he moved towards the exit. When he was safely behind the heavily barred gate, he nodded for the retainer to follow. As soon as the man let go of the leash, the Warden attacked. His movements blurred together into a vicious assault as he grabbed the long chain attached to his collar, jumped behind the man, and wrapped the cold metal around his neck. The larger man struggled, but his resistance was pointless. Although he toppled backwards to squash the smaller man beneath his back, the Warden's grip did not loosen. Instead, the warrior wrapped his legs around him in a deadlock and pulled on the chain. His victim's neck snapped sideways. Slowly, he pushed the dead body aside and got to his feet again, looking around until his eyes settled on the Viewing Box.

The Arena Master seemed to recover from his surprise, shouting an order for a second gate to be opened. As soon as the heavy metal ground to a stop, dark shapes poured forth. They were warriors dressed in heavy armor. Their screams resembled loud shrieks of various octaves, unpleasant enough that he saw some people in the crowd rush to cover their ears. Their faces were misshapen, their eyes a dull grey and their mouths shaped into fanged grins. Bloody veins bulged from the skin around their necks and limbs; slime and gore covered them from head to toe.

"Are those…"

"Darkspawn," Danarius finished for his fellow mage. "Indeed. Now we will watch _it_ fight and see if the Grey Wardens live up to their reputations." The Wolf watched silently as at least twenty of the filthy monsters rushed the Warden in the center, spewing black bile and slime into the sand as their ran. With surprising restraint, the prisoner straightened his back and prepared for the attack. In seconds, he was overwhelmed, lost beneath a pile of writhing bodies. The Wolf looked on, expressionless. Again, he was proved correct. Inevitability was a force that nothing in this world could defeat.

"Look!" one of the men behind him hissed. As though the command was issued to him personally, he turned back to look at the arena.

A beat.

Then an explosion.

Darkspawn were sent flying backwards, clearing a brief opening around the warrior. He now held two longswords lifted threateningly before him. Standing in the center of the black hurricane that was the mass of monsters around him, he looked as calm and deadly as a viper ready to strike. Of course, the tainted beasts were undaunted by his resistance, mindless as they were. As soon as they regained their feet, they charged at him again. This time, he parried their blows, weaving in and out between them with blinding speed as he used every opportunity he could to land critical blows to their exposed backs. He might as well have been as intangible as smoke, the way he moved. The battle did not last more than a few minutes before bodies littered the golden sand, the sun accenting the hue of their blood-covered, gored, flesh. With a quick jerk, the Warden placed a foot on the last carcass beneath him and pulled his blades from its stomach.

Shocked into an unusual silence, the Magisters and the crowd below went utterly still. Nobody knew what to say, for what the warrior accomplished was unheard of. That he survived the trial was unprecedented. Suddenly, Danarius stood from his chair, raising his arms into the air in a gesture of approval. The Wolf saw the Arena Master nod. With a groan, the gate before him slid upwards to allow several guards to pass through. They moved towards the Warden with obvious fear. As soon as they were close enough, he attacked. He brought down four of them before he stopped in mid-swing.

Lightning arched around him, forcing him to drop his swords and scream in agony. Without thinking of the consequences, the Wolf looked up to see his master holding his hand before him, his eyes glinting with blood-lust. After a few moments, he released his hold, allowing the warrior to crumple to the ground, his armor hissing with smoke as it fell away from his surprisingly small frame. The guards rushed towards him, now confident that he could not fight back. For the third time that day, the Wolf felt surprise stiffening his body. He watched in near disbelief as the Warden grabbed a sword from the ground and blocked the swing of the guard's spear, pushing him back with unnatural strength. More guards ran out from behind the gate. The Arena Master shouted curses. Three more bodies dropped dead to the ground before Danarius sent another spell flying at his victim.

He managed to somehow hold on to his weapon this time, although his scream was filled with obvious pain. The lightning caught him off guard, and his assailant took advantage to slash right through the front of his remaining, flimsy armor. With a ferocity that would resound in the Wolf's memory for many days to come, the Warden roared a denial. The spell flickered and he used the reprieve to lunge forward and barrel through the last two guards who still stood. They fell – one losing his head while the other lost two of his limbs. Danarius's expression did not change. Instead, he lifted his staff and pointed it at the Warden, casting a spell that the Wolf recognized immediately.

Spirit Cage.

With another tortured shout, the Warden released his hold on the sword and arched back, his spine forced to bend from the pure agony that he must have felt. After what seemed like an eternity, Danarius released him. The dirt-covered clothing that the warrior wore beneath his armor was mostly burned away, leaving a sight that stunned everyone in the audience.

The sun shone down on pale, white skin. The bright, golden rays illuminated an upturned face with delicate features that could not have belonged to any man. Even the tatters of the linen could not hide the small, fragile form that was only supported by Danarius's spell. The shirt mostly fell away to reveal the softness of breasts moving up and down with labored breathing.

The Wolf reeled with sudden realization as he saw the figure in a completely different light.

A prisoner.

A Grey Warden.

A fierce warrior with an indomitable will.

But, above all, a human woman.

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**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Wow! Thank you so much for all of the alerts, favorites, and reviews! All of your responses helped fuel my inspiration to finish this chapter so quick. I hope to hear more from you guys soon. :D

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns...just having fun.

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**Unfettered Aberration**

**Chapter 1  
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"_The King is what?" _

"_Dead." _

"_I don't understand, Hawke. How can that be?" _

"_Mother, please, there isn't much time." Hawke rushed around the various rooms of her home, throwing various essentials haphazardly around to locate things they would need for rough travel. When she looked up to see Leandra's worried and confused face, she whirled to look at her sister. _

"_Bethany, find Carver. We have only a few hours, maybe less, until this village will be crawling with Darkspawn." Nodding agreement, the younger woman ran out the door to find their brother. "Where has that idiot gone off to in a time like this?" she muttered under her breath, still stuffing clothes and whatever food she could wrap in linens into small satchels. _

"_Darling, please tell what's happening," her mother pleaded. "What happened at Ostagar?" _

"_We'll need to take these, too," Hawke continued as if she hadn't heard her. She looked everywhere but directly at her, not wanting to see her frightened face lest she lose focus. "Maker knows we'll need the money from selling them." _

"_Hawke…" _

"_Mother, I need you to bring down the fish we've salted from the attic."_

"_Hawke…" _

"_It won't spoil easily and we can eat it without cooking it if we can't find a place to make a fire." _

"_Marian!" _

_**That**__ got her attention. Leandra only called her "Marian" when she was angry or seriously upset. At last, Hawke's ice-blue eyes met her mother's, an automatic response to her obvious distress. The frail woman looked terrified._

"_Mother, I will explain everything, but for now we can't delay. This village will burn, and I don't plan to be here when that happens." Her gaze was firm – strong and unwavering. She wished that she could lend her mother some of that strength now. The door burst open, revealing a breathless Bethany with a scowling Carver in tow. _

"_Carver, where have you been?" Hawke challenged, angry that he left the house at such a critical time. _

"_I want to stay and fight," he announced. Somehow, Hawke wasn't surprised. She clenched her jaw as they stared each other down. _

"_Please talk him out of it, Sis," Bethany begged, joining her sister in packing their gear. _

"_Why should I? If he wants to stay here and die like a bloody fool instead of helping his family, then I don't even want to talk to him." She turned away and, just like that, dismissed him. _

"_Say what you will, Sister, but I won't run away from this." Hawke remained silent, tying up the last of the bags before walking over to the far wall of the living room to pull her daggers off their stands. "I'm not a coward!" With her back turned to his shouting, she sheathed her weapons – two daggers at her waist, one on her thigh, and two longswords strapped to her back. "We're going to stay and defend our homes!" her brother yelled, trying to force her to acknowledge him. Still ignoring his ranting, Hawke pulled a thick, leather, band across her chest. Small, metal wires held a row of glass vials in place. Her trusty poisons were never far from her hand. _

"_Carver," Bethany began, but Hawke cut her off with a curt motion of her hand. Reaching into her satchel, she pulled out several acid flasks and smoke bombs, attaching them to the various pockets on her belt. Furious now, her brother strode up to her and grabbed the front of her armor, shaking her roughly. _

"_I __**won't**__ run like you did at Ostagar…" he growled. This time, Hawke couldn't restrain her own anger. Before he could even blink, Carver was pressed up against a wall, his sister's dagger pressed against his throat. _

"_I don't have time for your games today, __**brother**__," she bit out. "Come with us and protect your family like a man, or stay here and waste your life for no reason other than ego." With a final shove, she pulled away from him. "Your choice." _

_The bitterness left behind by the events at the ruins still stung – both her pride and her conscience. Only a day prior to the disaster, she had undergone the Joining to become a Grey Warden. Having been alone and secluded most of her life because of Bethany's magic, she formed a quick bond with the other few Wardens, anxiously awaiting the opportunity to fight at their side against the Blight. But, before she could, they were all betrayed. The battle was bloody and absolutely hopeless, especially after Loghain retreated with his troops. Darkspawn nearly overwhelmed her and the other two surviving Wardens at their position in the beacon tower. By some miracle, they managed to fight their way out and get away, grabbing a few horses from the encampment. At that point, they split up, agreeing that they needed to warn the northern villages of the coming hoard._

_Her mother's gentle hand drew her from her brooding when it settled on her shoulder. Her eyes were gentle and sympathetic, glowing in the candle light with the silent understanding that she gave her daughter all her life. Unbidden, the words flowed from her lips, briefly explaining Loghain's treasonous actions and finally revealing her new role as a Grey Warden. _

"_You never told us you were going to do such a thing," Leandra murmured. _

_Her mother hung her head at the news, her face pale. She knew what it meant – her daughter's life was no longer her own. Even if they managed to escape now, she would forever be bound to fighting for others. Without waiting for her family to comment further on the news, Hawke tossed one satchel to Bethany, gave one to her mother, and shouldered one herself. _

"_Where are we going? Do you even have a plan?" Bethany inquired, her delicate brow furrowed in frustration. _

"_I'm getting you out of here first. We need to move out of the path of the hoard, maybe find the other Wardens and try to figure something out from there." She threw Carver one, final, glance before stepping out the door. _

_No sooner did they get to the edge of the village before they heard the first scream. Hawke's hand immediately flew to the hilt of her dagger, the other fingering one of the poison vials strapped to her chest. She gestured for her mother and sister to follow her more closely, doubling their pace as they made it into the cover of trees. More screams soon joined the first until the smell of burning wood permeated the air. Unearthly screeches could be heard over the human cries for help. She didn't have to see what the sounds were to know that they belonged to Darkspawn. She urged for her family to move at her side as they carefully picked their way through the sparse foliage, finally reaching a cresting hill. By that time, her mother was wheezing, trying desperately to keep up. Hawke cursed under her breath. They were moving too slow. At this rate – _

"_Oh no," Bethany said behind her. A wave of dread pooled in her gut as she saw shadows appear above the top of the hill. Gritting her teeth, she vowed that she would die before she let anything happen to her family. Leaping forward, she used her full momentum to knock several of the fiends to the ground before throwing down a smoke bomb and weaving around to slice through their spinal cords. Human or not, no creature could survive without that crucial part of their anatomy. The smell of their tainted blood was sickening. _

"_Hawke!" She gasped as one of Bethany's spells flew past her cheek, just barely grazing her ear. Whirling around, she saw that the burst of ice froze three more enemies behind her. Without any hesitation, she pulled out her longswords and slashed around in a vicious arc, shattering all three into hundreds of icy crystals. From there, things only got harder. More and more monsters appeared from every crevice in the landscape, as though the ground itself was giving birth to them. _

"_There's so many," Bethany huffed, a drop of sweat glistening on her cheek. Between Hawke's blades and her magic, they'd managed to keep their mother safe, but both of them were exhausted. _

"_We'll make it through this," Hawke said confidently, although doubt made her heart skip a beat. A deafening roar cut off whatever other reassurances she planned to say. The ground shook beneath their feet; the stench of rotting flesh and coppery blood filled their nostrils. With horrified eyes, they watched as a giant, horned, monster lumbered over the top of another hill before them. It spotted them right away, roaring wildly as it pounded its chest. Saliva pooled around its sharp teeth, falling in huge, slimy, drops to the dirt below. When Hawke took up a defensive stance in front of the two women, the thing went into a rage, stomping its feet and shaking its head as its eyes went from black to blood red. Its nostrils flared. _

"_Maker help us," Bethany whispered as the beast bent forward and charged. _

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Hawke's eyes snapped open as she awakened from her vivid dream. When was the last time she'd dreamt of home? She lost count of the number of days that passed since she last saw memories of her past. Slowly, her vision adjusted to the darkness of her surroundings. Judging by the smell of soggy earth and growing mold, she was back in her customary cell.

Time did not exist in this place – only the darkness that sapped her strength and resolve to endure. Each time that she thought her mind would break, she forced the images of her family's stricken faces to the forefront of her mind. They were a constant reminder of what she needed to protect. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to sit up, barely containing a groan as every muscle protested the action. Dimly, she remembered fighting Darkspawn in a giant arena. Memories flashed like lightning, giving her glimpses of what happened afterward in incoherent, disjointed, images.

_Danarius_, she recalled the name with disgust. The very man who betrayed her sat in the highest point in that stadium. Although she could not make out his features from a distance, she could tell that he was gloating, especially when he ordered her beating that same night. At the memory of the abuse, her blue eyes turned a misty grey. The lashings were the same as the darkness in her cell – devoid of time, devoid of life, devoid of mortality. Both were endless; both were dauntless.

The pain from the whip still lingered, like a haunting specter, from the night before. She recalled the hours of torture even though she didn't want to. When the leather splayed open the raw skin on her back, her mind had splintered into thousands of fragments. She stopped trying to hide her screams long ago. Letting them out was easier. Feeling the air leaving her lungs helped her keep a strand of sanity. In the wake of those punishments, she usually slipped into a place devoid of any dreams. The last time she'd been plagued by a vision of her past seemed like it took place centuries ago.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, she groped around her for a bowl. Although she couldn't tell what time of day it was, her stomach hurt and her lungs burned with tension – indicators that it was time to eat. Over the course of her imprisonment, meals were brought to her like clockwork, if what she ingested could be termed such. What at first she found repulsive became a gift from the Maker as hunger gnawed at her stomach. The sound of the small slit in her door creaking open to allow the bowl of liquid sustenance to pass through grew to be routine.

Some time ago, however, she noticed a change in the taste of her gruel. It wasn't much, but the bloody cuts on her back began to heal somewhat after she ate. No novice to the powers of herbs and tonics, she immediately recognized the flavor as an aftertaste of Elfroot. The addition became a regular ingredient in her meals, keeping her alive even when she thought she'd die of hunger. Eventually, she ate what she was given blindly. Too late, she realized that the substance she believed was harmless Elfroot turned out to be Lyrium. Who knew when her keeper changed the ingredients or why he had done so? It could have been weeks. But, in the long run, it didn't really matter. She'd known people who developed a Lyrium addiction in mere _days_. Back then, she scoffed at them and their weakness. Now, when the gruel was just a little late to arrive and she felt the burning in her blood, she pitied them. Ashamed, she did not dare reflect on her state. A Grey Warden writhing on the ground sick with Lyrium addiction and stripped bare of all sanity was someone else – not her.

Eventually, her meal did arrive. An anonymous stranger slipped a hand inside a crack in her cell, handing her the thing she craved so desperately. Without bothering to chew, she downed it in a few gulps, immediately feeling relief as the powder diffused through body and her strength returned. Still trembling and sick, she sank down face first on the floor, heedless of the cold stone. Again, she lost track of time. Her mind drifted. She wondered if her family was safe; she wondered how her fellow Grey Wardens were progressing in their heroic battle against the Blight in Ferelden. More than anything, though, she wondered how much longer she could last in this desolate place.

The sound of the lock on her door scraping open caused her to jump, pain arching up her back. Was it time for another lashing? Had the day gone by so quickly? Suddenly afraid and very much unwilling to submit, she scrambled to her feet and backed up into a corner to put as much distance as possible between herself and her intruder. Desperately, her mind searched for a way to escape. If only she could see her potential attacker.

"Grey Warden," a deep voice said calmly. "You will come with me now." Surprised, she realized that she'd never heard this particular voice before. Had Danarius sent someone new?

"What for?" she ground out, clenching her hands at her sides.

"Come," the voice replied. "Do not make me repeat myself."

"Then just leave," Hawke countered defiantly. The end of her sentence was cut short as she was bodily lifted into the air. For a moment she felt weightless before her back hit something hard – a wall. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, somehow unwilling to let this stranger know of her weakness. From her new position, she could see light filtering through an opening some distance away. Even with that meager form of illumination, she saw the outlines of her assailant's face. Green eyes glowed with an unnatural shine, while a shock of pure, white hair fell forward to accent a finely chiseled jawline.

"Who are you?" she whispered raggedly. He did not reply. Instead, he released her, clapping a pair of irons around her wrists and tying a blindfold around her eyes. Without a word, he forced her to follow him as he pulled on the thick chain around her manacles. "Where are you taking me?" He did not reply, but she didn't have to wonder for long. After being pulled for several minutes at an unforgiving pace, the blindfold slipped off and the stranger pushed her into a large, lavishly decorated chamber. She landed in a heap on the floor.

"Get out," a voice above her commanded. The door closed behind her; she didn't miss the _click_ of a heavy lock. _This_ voice was too familiar. When silence settled over the room, Hawke looked up to meet the gaze of the one man she hated most – Danarius.

"_You_," she spat in disgust, immediately forgetting her pain as she struggled to back away from him in a half crawl, half walk.

"I see you're feeling better, Warden." His smile made her sick. "I hope you enjoyed your meal this morning." More cruelty. So, he'd personally made sure her dose of lyrium arrived late. Briefly looking around, she grimaced. The last thing she wanted was to be alone, chained and injured, in a chamber with this madman.

"What do you want?" she demanded with false bravado.

"Just the usual," he replied, to her surprise. "Power, glory," he walked over to loom over her. She glared at him. "Good, I see Thane hasn't beaten the spirit out of you completely. That is rather fortunate, for I've finally found a good use for you."

"Other than fighting Darkspawn?" Hawke inquired angrily.

"There's something I need, actually – an artifact. I _would_ retrieve it myself, but doing so is impossible without a Grey Warden." Her eyes filled with the pain of sorrow, and she hurried to look away lest he see her vulnerability.

"I wasn't a Warden long enough to warrant holding that title." Abruptly, he knelt down, wrapping his hand painfully around her throat. She struggled to breathe, everything fading out of her vision save the burning of his unforgiving scowl.

"Yet you sold yourself to me with that title. Should I take your words to mean that you deceived me?"

"N-No," she managed to whisper through the pain.

"Should I take back my generosity? I know exactly where your pathetic little family is. It would be too easy to arrange for an accident."

"No," Hawke sputtered with more force this time, her eyes widening. Enjoying the fear that his threat carved into her normally listless features, Danarius loosened his hold. He made a few intricate signs in the air. A powerful, nearly bone-crushing force sent her flying backwards, suspending her in the air with invisible needles.

"Then I suggest you begin to cooperate."

"Not…part of… bargain," she coughed, her eyes rolling back with the pain. He chuckled.

"I'm not sure I remember the exact terms of our contract," he drawled. "And, contrary to what you may believe, I am no demon that mindlessly follows the bindings of a pact." Stepping close to where he kept her floating in mid-air, he caressed the side of her face. The gesture was a mockery of gentleness; he dragged a single, long, nail down her cheek, drawing a small trail of blood.

"Let me remind you of your precarious situation." With a wave of his hand, the magic intensified, causing stars to burst in her vision as every nerve in her body exploded in flames. She struggled to contain her voice. "You are a nobody here in Tevinter – a piece of flesh that is worth less than cattle. You sold yourself to me completely, and in exchange I paid for your family to enter Kirkwall unharmed. Fortunately for your mother and apostate sister, the taint that lurks in your veins fascinated me enough to pay the modest sum." His fingers made a vague circle in the air. This time, she screamed. The sound echoed off the stone walls – or was it just within her unhinged mind?

"St…op…"

"Now, now, we're just getting started," he chastised, his voice dripping with sweet venom. "Frankly, I grow bored with your antics, dear Warden. You don't seem to understand your place." With another gesture, he wrung another scream from her throat. "I am your _master_, now."

"N…o…"

"I originally brought you here to put things in perspective for you. I decided that if you do not cooperate, I would bring your family here and burn them alive before your eyes." Looking suddenly thoughtful, he turned around and sat in one of the chairs. "Seeing your resistance now, however, has given me other ideas. Truly breaking you would please me so much more than forcing your submission with threats." He smiled at the sound of breaking bone as he popped her ribs, one by one. "A Grey Warden slave, completely subservient and obedient – I'll be the envy of every Magister in the city."

"Ly…" she chocked out. Amused, he moved closer so he could hear her. "Ly…riu..m…" She writhed within his spell, her eyes completely rolled back into her head while blood trickled from her ears. No doubt, she wasn't even aware of what she said.

"Looks like Thane trained you well. Just another precaution, to make sure you won't think of running." Releasing the magic around her, he let her drop into a boneless heap to the floor. Kneeling down, he moved her face so he could see her eyes. Her pupils tried to focus the light, but failed. "You can't escape me, little Warden – not even in your dreams. I will make sure that I am burned into your flesh and your mind." He stood, levitating her upwards again. "Now, then, let's make sure that we have no more discussions like this after tonight."

Hawke's screams tore through the veil of night, awakening several servants. Behind the door to Danarius's chamber, the Wolf leaned against the stone walls, commanded to stay there no matter what happened. Although he tried to, he could not tune out the anguished cries even with years of experience. Something about the lone Warden had slipped past his well-built mental barriers. Frowning, he finally answered the question that plagued him since the first moment he saw her in the arena.

Yes, even someone as hollow at himself could feel pity after all.

* * *

**To be continued...**


End file.
